


Turning the Page With You

by Rollingjules



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Blade of Marmora Shiro (Voltron), Champion Shiro (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), Galran Culture (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) was Raised by the Blade of Marmora, M/M, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rollingjules/pseuds/Rollingjules
Summary: Galra Blade Keith teaches freed Champion Galra Shiro to read in the Galra language. The extra quality time does nothing to help quiet Shiro's feelings for him.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 75





	Turning the Page With You

Shiro dreams of the explosions. It’s not _every_ night cycle, in fact far from it – his disjointed memories of the arena all blend together and bubble up to the surface after he falls asleep. But tonight he wakes up certain the ground shakes beneath him, ready to spring to his feet. His ears twitch with confusion when no smell of smoke or sounds of battle surround him…

Ah, a dream. But this time not of his torment, but of his escape.

His skin crawls nonetheless, his fur standing on end with the agitation. He needs to move. He needs an outlet for his nervous energy. He can’t pace in the halls of the communal barracks like he could in his cell, so Shiro quietly slips out of his bunk and pads on quiet bare feet to the door. A quick glance over his shoulder at the sleeping Blades tells him he’ll have no trouble in the training rooms at this hour.

Upon his arrival though, it seems the padded floor used for their training matches is already occupied. His shoulders sag infinitesimally, the only disappointment he’ll let himself show. ‘Occupied’ is a very broad term for Shiro, still so wary of close-quarters contact with others when he’s not tucked up safely in his bunk. He nearly turns on his heel to pace the halls instead when the lone Blade on the mats turns toward him and deactivates their mask. A dark cascade of hair falls around a sharp, serious face – it’s Keith.

Keith, the Blade who looks no more Galra than half at best but who still carried a barely-conscious Shiro across his shoulders all the way from his holding cell to a stealth fighter three decks away. Keith, who kept him company through the particle barrier separating him from the rest of the Blades during his observation and quarantine period. Keith, who advocated he be enlisted and trained as a fellow Blade, rather than be left to the mercies of a fearful refugee planet or a distant khrultig farm.

Shiro stands taller in spite of himself at Keith’s attention.

“Can’t sleep?” Keith asks, approaching at a sedate and steady amble. Shiro is touched by his consideration.

“More or less,” he hedges. He knows Keith is aware of his nightmares. Many of the other Blades have them as well – they’re at war, after all – but admitting to a weakness when his position here feels so precarious seems inadvisable.

“I can head out if you want to use the room,” Keith offers, jerking his head toward the equipment.

He should be grateful. He should agree, and say thank you. But Shiro realizes quickly that he _doesn’t_ want Keith to leave. Keith’s presence is reassuring, reminding him that this is real and not a hallucination of quintessence or worse. And Keith’s quiet, patient company makes him feel like more than a soldier, more than a machine the Empire would push until it breaks.

Words fail him, though. It’s so difficult to ask, for help or for _anything_. He wants to prove to Keith that he can handle himself, that Keith’s trust in him wasn’t misplaced. To his dismay, Keith walks past him at a respectful distance. Defeated, Shiro resigns himself to a long night of working himself until he tires only to do it all again in the morning during training. The door swishes open quietly behind him, but he turns when he doesn’t hear it close.

Keith is standing in the doorway, waiting.

“Come with me?”

Keith is special, he has a certain understated kindness about him. It’s the way he lets Shiro know nothing is a demand with just his tone, the distance he keeps with care not out of fear, but of regard for Shiro’s boundaries. It makes Shiro want to stay close to him.

Nodding, Shiro moves to follow behind him down the hall. He lets Keith lead, Keith’s steps almost silent and Shiro’s less experienced feet treading carefully to maintain the stealth expected of a Blade in training. His tail twitches with the mental effort of managing his steps. He’s of average build for a Galra, but next to Keith he feels almost burly. And while his body may be inexperienced, his battle-trained eye can tell that Keith’s honed and quiet gait is more from practice than any natural advantage.

The trip requires his full attention, and Shiro is grateful for the distraction from the stress of his nightmares. After a time, they stop in front of a door Shiro’s never been through. Keith leads the way inside and Shiro follows into a small room of low tables and cushions. A few computer terminals stand at intervals along the walls. It’s quiet, and though the furnishings are simple they help keep Shiro feeling at ease as opposed to imprisoned in the small space.

“What is this place?” he asks, when Keith doesn’t explain.

“It’s the library. I figured you might not’ve have had time to visit yet. Thought it might help to pick out a book for your tablet, something to read at night. Helps me, anyway, keeps my mind off of things before bed, y’know?” He gestures to a terminal.

Shiro nods slowly. It must be very soothing; at least, he assumes. He wouldn’t know.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment. It must have been too long, because Keith frowns. Shiro likes that about him, he’s careful and capable but it’s always clear what he’s thinking.

“You don’t have to if you don’t think it’ll help.” It’s a gentle reminder. Keith is giving him an out, assuming Shiro’s not interested in his suggestion. If only that were the case.

“I, er…” How to even explain? “I appreciate it. I do. It’s just that I won’t be able to… get much use out of what’s here.” He shifts on his feet, embarrassed and not making eye contact.

The words and letters might have been familiar, once. He knows, distantly, that he had _some_ kind of schooling when he was young. But he can hardly remember it at all, it was only a short time after that his parents were labeled traitors to the empire and he was shipped off to a work camp at the edge of the empire. But still he grew tall and strong, and so then the arena…

He’s expecting it when Keith stiffens, but not what follows.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Shiro’s tail stands straight up in surprise. “You’re sorry? I would’ve thought it would disqualify me…” He’d been genuinely surprised the Blade leadership didn’t make him take a literacy test when he was allowed to join, but it was likely they’d assumed he could read like a normal fullgrown adult. Hearing Keith treat it like he’d been insensitive to Shiro, rather than a personal failing, was _not_ something he had prepared for.

“There’s no shame in it. Plenty of us have to learn when we get here.” Keith shrugs like it’s not an issue, but he’s clearly serious with the conviction in his voice. He says it like Shiro has no reason to feel ashamed.

“Did you?” Shiro asks before he can stop himself. He clamps his jaw shut immediately after, knowing he’s overstepped.

Keith shakes his head, his fine hair swaying with the motion. “I grew up here on this base, with my mom. I learned as a kit, but I shared lessons with older recruits. Everyone’s life is different, everybody deserves the same start.”

The effortless understanding surprises him. It shouldn’t, coming from Keith, but Shiro is unaccustomed to generosity even when it’s intangible. Some kind words or thoughtful acts are yet more words he doesn’t know how to read.

Shiro is quiet for a time, taking a tentative seat on a cushion.

“I could learn here?” It’s a cautious question, guarded. His life has taught him better than to get his hopes up.

“Of course.” Keith sits opposite him at the squat round table.

“Who would teach me?” The other Blades aren’t _mis_ trustful of him, exactly, but Shiro acknowledges that the careful berth they give him is one his deeds in the arena have earned. He doubts any of them would jump at what’s sure to be many movements’ worth of tedium; and with him, no less.

Keith’s lips part, the thoughtful frown on his face for only a moment before he looks up with determination.

“I would.”

The lessons are the best part of his day. Keith walks with him in silence to the library after the evening meal. It’s been a comfort and a welcome routine, and his progress both pleases Keith and makes Shiro proud to have his approval. He can read most of the labels alongside the doorways now, and the packages of stored goods in the stockroom behind the mess hall. He’s read through several passages of prose, and even some basic poetry. With his firm grasp of the letters, Keith thinks he’s ready to move on to reading _and_ writing now. Shiro’s ears and tail are perked from the excitement he feels. It’s fortunate Keith doesn’t have a tail, or he’d be tempted to hold it with his own. _That_ would surely be too much.

“So,” Keith says as he sits down heavily, making himself comfortable. “How are you feeling?”

Shiro sits carefully, mindful of his knees jostling the table as he scoots in. They’re alone, and Keith is here. He’s safe. He can be honest, he knows that now.

“Good. Nervous, but I’m ready.”

Keith nods, producing his tablet from his suit. He unclips the pen and hands them both to Shiro, as is their tradition.

“I think it would be good to start simple. Useful stuff.”

Shiro agrees. He waits attentively for Keith to prompt him with an exercise, like he does every night.

“Why don’t you try your name?” Keith suggests.

It feels obvious, Shiro realizes now, but he wouldn’t have ever thought of it on his own. Outside of being addressed in training he has gotten very little use out of it in his decaphoebs under the Empire.

With the stylus clumsily in hand, Shiro sets about getting a feel for using it. A few squiggles, a few tentative letters. _SH_ , _I_. O. Satisfied, he clears the screen and sets about writing.

The letters he chooses are different, but no less important. Perhaps infinitely moreso.

“Um--” Keith starts and stops, holding back his corrections. It’s obvious Shiro’s not using the correct letters. He must wonder if he’s been learning at all. To his credit he remains quiet, waiting for Shiro to be done. It’s yet another thing Shiro likes about him: Keith is brash and sometimes unpredictable in drills, but he has never been anything but steady and patient with Shiro.

“I’m almost finished,” he explains. His unsteady hand carefully moves the stylus over the screen. He frowns in concentration, tail flicking just slightly. Keith is patient despite his concern, a solid presence to his left as he works. After a moment, he sets the pad on the table and primly slides it over to Keith.

_K E I T H_

It’s childish and inelegant. A frix worm could do better. But the smile that blooms on Keith’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good work, Shiro. I think that’s a perfect start.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little quick thing I wrote a few months ago for a zine application, which I couldn't submit due to real life things. But there's no reason why it can't be here for y'all to enjoy! Thank you for reading and any comments you might leave, I love you all! <3 Please feel free to yell about sheith with me on twitter where I yodel about things I love as @lioslegbelts


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